The King of Kong

I pretty much slept through the video game craze of the 80s. I never dabbled in Atari, Intellavision, or arcades. Frankly, my hand/eye coordination is probably closer to one that would be the result of a procreation by Helen Keller and Harold Russell. The only game I ever got semi-good at was Frogger, and I must confess that happened in the last five years. The bottom line: on most of these other video games, I am strictly and perpetually on Level One.

Nevertheless, I was drawn to a new documentary "The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters" by the subject matter, which is as nerdy as you can legally get.. Okay, I have never ever played a single game of Donkey Kong. I don't know what it is. I don't care what it is. It is as useless to me as cherry lip gloss. I actually had to go to the internet to get even a remote understanding of what the object of the game is. Apparently, this Super Mario guy must save a princess from the clutches of a grumpy giant ape. We're not talking J.R. Tolkien here.

But, at the same time, I have always been grossly fascinated by these "human interest" documentaries. I have already twice seen "Wordplay" which chronicles the National Crossword Puzzle competition. It is not the game depicted that draws me in. It is the human sideshow of life. I love to see how just amazingly bizarre my fellow American citizens can actually be.

And they are bizarre to the Nth degree in this flick. Here's the story in a nutshell. Back in the mid 80s, some video game mega-guro Billy Mitchell set the all-time world record for Donkey Kong. Indeed, his record remained uncontested until 2006, when some poor shlub from Seattle named Steve Wiebe broke the all-time high himself while sitting in his garage. Steve's such a video nerd that, while focused on the Kong screen, he virtually ignores his toddler son's plaintive wails for toilet paper. When Wiebe tries to submit his score to the "official" gaming commission (yes, there is such a thing), it's denied because he racked up all his points on a home-based machine. Apparently the only "legal" way to truly claim the record per the video game worldwide referee (yes, there is such a person) is to play the Donkey Kong machine that is inside a specific and approved arcade locations. But that doesn't stop the ultra-sleazy Mitchell from submitting his own video-taped record---and that score is surprisingly accepted by the goofy commission as yet another new world's record.

As this film unfolds, it becomes much more than a snapshot of a bunch of video game idiots with too much time on their hands. It unravels as very much a good guy vs. an evil empire story. Luke Skywalker vs. Darth Vader. Wiebe is a sad sack family guy who's an admired high school science teacher with financial problems. Meanwhile, the detestable Billy Mitchell, a greasy-haired Dennis Miller knock-off, fancies himself as this great American icon, when, in reality, he is nothing more than the owner of a chicken wings restaurant in Hollywood, Florida. As you watch their stories play out, you will grow to hate Mitchell, who winds up as one of the greatest film villains in history. His video game empire is loaded with dorky minions who are all bowing at his feet. And they will do anything to ensure that his world record status stays intact. They form a crew of wily henchmen, who are really nothing more than a bunch of geeks wearing pocket pen protectors.

As trivial as the video game that they embrace is, you can totally appreciate the passion and desire that is being portrayed in the fast paced 80 minutes. At first, the ending is quite unsatisfying. But, if you wait till the very end, there is some fun justice that does prevail. I still could give a monkey's ass about Donkey Kong, but this movie offers up an amazing referendum of how a nice guy can do battle with the evils of a conglomerate, in this case, the snarky Billy Mitchell empire. It gives you hope that, when you do something as minor as contest a charge on your phone bill, there are days where you actually might triumph.

Pull together as many quarters as your movie house will need for a ten dollar ticket and enjoy this smart snapshot of American persistance. Just forget about how truly dopey these people really are.

Dinner last night: the great BLT sandwich from Clementine's.